


Ducks Requisite

by Cris_C



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fox Hybrid Floris | Fundy, Gen, Hybrid Alexis | Quackity, Hybrid Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Hybrid Toby Smith | Tubbo, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Slow Burn, Swearing, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:02:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28707834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cris_C/pseuds/Cris_C
Summary: Where Quackity chooses his loyalties over a country.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt, Alexis | Quackity & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Alexis | Quackity/Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 193





	1. Waking Moments Of Days Passed

The election had come and went easily, gone with the breeze and along with it Tommy and Wilbur. Quackity hadn’t been expecting their citizenship to be revoked but had been too caught up in the celebrations after the fact to stop and consider it. Transitioning was simple enough, Schlatt having appointed Tubbo as his right hand, Quackity and Fundy helping wherever they could and the very next day after the elections began with work, or at least for Quackity. The bird began making a structure, a home to call his own. No one offered help and he wasn’t really expecting any, he thought the process to be therapeutic and more rewarding to do it alone. That very day he laid out paper, grabbed pencils, and a ruler. He set out to find an open lot for the building he was wanting to do, stumbling across a secluded area with oak and spruce trees further on the outskirts of Manberg. He set himself down against a tree and let his hands work on the blueprint for the house. His hands glided against the paper, his posture relaxed with black and yellow wings spread out in the grass behind him. Quackity worked methodically through the day, the sun setting in the distance. 

A light tap was placed on his shoulder just as he was lightly laying out finer details to what he’d like to be his room. He looked over his shoulder, meeting red eyes and honey toned skin. 

Schlatt stood over him, looking over the paper in Quackity’s hands. The man seemed relaxed, hand settled gently over Quantity’s shoulder. “Makin’ a house for yourself there, Birdy?” The rams words slurred slightly, leaving his tongue easily. Quackity giggled at the nickname, a small hum leaving his throat. “Yeah, I think it's about time I make myself a proper house.” His brows creased in thought, the pencils eraser being pressed against his lip. “It'll take a while for it to be done, with all the materials that I have to get, I'll have to stay in the white house while I do it.” 

Schlatt only stood behind him, pensive as he stared at the open lot. The area was reclusive, the sun taking its warmth with it as it began hiding away over the horizon, autumn chill beginning to seep into the world slowly. “Let's get back then”

  
  
  


Quackity knows he isn’t entirely the brightest, not in the same way Tubbo is with his contraptions or ideas to make Manberg look nicer, not like Fundy who has a brilliant mind when it comes to redstone, but he likes to think he can pick up on people better. He’d always lived off of others reactions, in entertaining however he could. 

The day had been winding down, he had just gotten back from the forest, where he had been laying foundations for his house. He was tired, his wings nearly dragging on the floor, he was more than glad to get smacked with the escaping cool wind of the white house as he made his way inside through open doors. 

“Hey, Quackity!” Brown eyes landed on Schlatt the moment he stepped through the doors. The man wore a smile, small and hesitant. The man looked as tired as Quackity felt, hair disheveled and tie loosely done, his suit jacket nowhere in sight, yet he approached the bird with enthusiasm, hands raised as Quackity leaned into them. “Workin’ hard aren’t you.” He chuckled the words, bouncing from his throat into the air. 

Quackity scrunched up his nose at the smell that wafted from Schlatts lips, having reached his nose due to the proximity. “I mean I guess,” The shorter male flippantly waved his hand in the air, “layed out that wood part of the house at least.” Quackity perked up a little, lips turning upwards as he recalled the sun setting at the top of the scaffolding. “Man, you shoulda seen the view from the top, you feel like a king standing up there.” He drew out his words, exaggerated and with energy he didn’t know he still had. Schlatt nodded along, patting Quackity on the shoulder in affirmation. Red eyes caught sight of the black feathers over his friend's shoulder, honey toned fingers grazing them absentmindedly as the bird halted his rambling. 

He reeled back instinctually at the contact, wings hiking up and folding tightly against his back, Schlatt retracted his hand just as quickly. “ _Oh shit!_ You good there, Feathers?” Schlatt laughed, the words carried by the sound. “Didn’t know you were chicken.” The bird looked up at Schlatt, following his movements. 

Schlatt cleared his throat awkwardly, as Quackity blinked. 

The bird dipped his head, hand reaching up to scratch his neck. Quackity warbled out a laugh, a higher pitch to it’s note. “No-no, I'm sorry for overreacting like that, I guess I'm way more tired than I thought I was.”

Schlatt looked him over, seemingly pleased with whatever Quackity assumed he saw. “Anyway, while you were out, I went out of my way to get you something.” Quackity stopped his movements, watching as Schlatt brought his hand to his hip and pulled out a rapidly materializing axe. Its sheen was a muted purple, diamond making its bit. The handle was wrapped tightly with a blue fabric, sturdy and rough. 

The whole thing looked expensive, crafted in a way that Quackity could equate to masterful. “Here, ‘thought you could use it to gather materials.” The goat hybrid scratched at his ear as he spoke, though his eyes met Quackity head on. “Hey, you could even use it to kill some stuff if you needed to.” 

“Schlatt, I’m grateful and all but damn this thing looks expensive.” Quackitys voice wobbled, fumbling with the netherite axe that Schlatt was graciously giving to him. Giving _him,_ Quackity, a very expensive item that may as well be worth all he ever owned. He gripped the handle, reading the symbol embedded enchantments that were carved into the axe dutifully. Quackity read each symbol slowly, his mouth falling agape ever so slightly. 

He briefly thought this thing was made more for killing than collecting wood.

“Dude, I don’t know what to say.” His head shot up, “Schlatt, did you make this?”

“You could say I hired someone to make it.” Schlatts hands went into his pockets, his posture slouching over. “I’m not the best at weapon making, thought it’d be better to find someone who was.” Quackity closed his mouth, bottom lip wobbling as he swallowed hard. His lips spread into a wide smile. “Thank you so much dude! This is more help than I could have ever asked for. Seriously, thank you, Schlatt.”

Schlatt smiled back.

That night, Quackity shined the axe before bed, leaving it against the wall near the door.

Moonlight peeking through the window gave way to a glossing and recently carved name into the handle _Duck’s Requisite._

* * *

  
  


Since that night Schlatt was around more frequently, staying off to the side under a tree as he watched Quackity work, or getting his hands coated in honey as he aided Tubbo, Fundy, Quackity capture bees to make a bee farm. Some days he wasn’t around at all, Quackity could only wonder where the man hunkered down on those nights. 

Tonight was one of those nights. The sun had long since set but Quackity still found himself wide awake. At his side engulfed in a thin scarf was Tubbo, the cold not seemingly bothering them as it was Quackity. Both cupped hot mugs of chocolate milk, brewed by Tubbo, who’d gone out of his way in searching for cocoa beans in a distant jungle. Its color was soft, a muted white-brown, warm and steaming with the silkiest of textures as it went down Quackity’s throat. The heat did wonders, seeping into his body and sitting heavy in his stomach, ebbing the chill away. Both found themselves on the highest tower in Manberg, Its gray and dark purple appearance shadowing over the town. 

Quackity had brought up a bench, setting it down close to the railing as Tubbo made his way up the structure with the warm drinks. 

They’ve been sitting there in each other's company for some time, tired muscles winding down from the strenuous work they did. “Thank you, for helping me with the bee farm,” the lamb swung his feet softly, his brown eyes set onto the horizon. “I didn't think they’d be able to clog up some of the machinery.” Small huffs of laughter shook his frame.

Quackity looked at Tubbo, really looked. He was young, not as young as Tommy nor as tall but he was around Quackity’s height, begrudgingly so. The air of innocence the lamb held, not only in mannerisms but in appearances, brown rich hair framed a round face, fluffy ears protruding from the sides of his head, small round horns poked through his mop of hair. The bird found a sense of comfort in the kids presence, a need to get closer and aid Tubbo the best he could. “It's really no trouble, and besides, it was hilarious seeing you get all covered with honey.” 

Tubbo turned, nose scrunching up and brows furrowing. They both broke into soft giggles after the silence dragged on, soft and whole. 

They settled back into silence, moon cast within their eyes as they leaned into one another. Quackity’s right wing moved on its own, carefully and gingerly wrapping the boy in a semi-cocoon. Tubbo cast a glance, the yellow feathers, golden in color, seemingly growing out of the near obsidian feathers further up the appendage. “You have lovely wings.” 

Quackity leaned further into Tubbo, head tilted downwards with a half hearted smile gracing his lips, a small huff left him. “No, really!” Tubbo straightened at the birds motion, welcoming the actions. “Your wings aren’t as big as Bads or anything but they are yellow-”

“They’re yellow.” Quackity laughs, lips quirking upwards as Tubbo moved his free hand around as he spoke. “Yes, yellow. Yellow and soft like a poppy.”

“Really, Tubbo. You haven’t even touched them, man.” Quackity could already feel the burning question on Tubbos' mind even before the boy asked. He took the half a second Tubbo gave him to relax as much as possible, more so than now. He never really liked the anticipation and instinctual need to shy his wings away from others, the weight of what it meant to place faith in others to do so was scary. He reminded himself that this was Tubbo, good natured and kind even before they started working together, before the elections. “Could I? I mean if you’ll let me.”

Quackity tilted his warm mug of chocolate milk around, watching the drink slosh against the inner walls of the mug, staining the white and glossy, baked clay, before running down back into the rest of the drink. He tilted his head back a little, placing the beverage against his lips. After a few gulps he sighed, running the back of his hand against his lips. “Sure, Tubbo.” 

Speaking always came easily to most, but within that moment Quackity truly understood what it meant to lay your cards all out for the world to see. Even if this action would be kept within that moment, on the top of this tower amongst the stars that cast their view, his words felt loud in their feebality, made his stomach sink in a way the hot chocolate never did. Yet as Tubbos’ hand slowly and gently grazed the golden feathers that had splayed out around him, Quackity didn’t breath. He didn’t breath until Tubbo nestled his hand into the black feathers that made the majority of his wing. 

He sat there, mug in his hands, slowly sipping it away as he felt fingers smooth out the down in his wing, the motions soothing the painful jolt his heart had gone through. With every moment passed, the bird trilled silently, the small sound filling the air as the bubble he and Tubbo sat in was further away from Manberg. It was just them in that company. 

Quackity pondered. When was the last time he’d felt as content as he had then, bathed in the warmth of a feeling akin to a familial love. 

He heard the distinctive hums of Tubbo as he played with his wings, Quackity’s white mug having been completely emptied, Tubbos own mug of chocolate milk left half finished and cold on the floor between their feet. Humming slowed into silence, touches of fingers eventually stilled, the weight of the boy leaned heavily on Quackity as the older boy wrapped an arm around the lambs shoulders, wings fully cocooning them both.

Tired brown eyes watched the sun rise over the horizon, pinks and oranges mingling in the sky as it pushed the stars into light. 

It grew warmer that morning and Quackity was content with letting his eyes close with Tubbo at his side, feeling more whole in that moment than he recalls ever feeling before.

* * *

  
  


“Hey. Big Q, what’s your favorite color?” Quackity wiped the sweat from his brow, cement scope held in a glove covered hand. He huffed as some drops of it fell on his coat, leaning over to dump the scope into the canister near the recently built fencing making the perimeter around his ‘house.’ “I’d say pink.” Quackity patted down his pants, dust being tossed in the air. He walked towards the fencing where Tubbo sat on the large pile of bricks, taking his padded gloves off and stuffing them into his back pocket. “Or, and this is a big ‘or,’ hazel.” 

Tubbo was bundled up in a sweater, autumn taking full force. It was a timber green, his dress-shirt cuffs peeked through at the end of the sleeves, clothes far lighter than Quackity’s thicker blue coat. Tubbo scooched over as Quackity lightly waved at him, the lamb turning over to dig through a basket that held their lunches as Quackity settled down on the hard red bricks. “Personally, I like purple. It’s quite mysterious and dignified.” 

Quackity hummed, a wrapped sandwich being placed into his hands. “You picked a horrible conversation starter.” Quackity bit into the sandwich, honey toasted bread with beefs, hams and cheese, with just the right amount of mayo. It was simple but fulfilling. Tubbo scoffed, chunks of food falling out of his mouth, “what! I am a great conversation starter, thank you very much.” 

“Sure, sure.” He elongated the words, tongue dripping with sarcasm and the taste of honey. Tubbo puffed out his cheeks, holding the sandwich by the wrapper. “What have you been up to anyway, Tubbo?”

Quackity shifted on the hard surface, genuinely debating putting a bench somewhere near his place in order to have similar talks like these. Maybe near a small fishing pond. The more his thoughts explored the idea the more appealing it became. Tubbo swallowed his food, wiping his lips with his hand. Tubbo kicked his feet, heels hitting the hard brick as they swung back. “Well, not much really. I’ve been helping Schlatt do paper work whenever he asks for the help.” Tubbo turned over and looked at Quackity, a smile plastered on his face, a laugh jutting out as he spoke. “It’s pretty boring but watching the man not eat his paper out of frustration is always pleasant to watch.”

At that Quackity almost choked, the image of Schlatt shredding paper between his teeth like a rabid animal came to mind. He spluttered and shouldered Tubbo, “Dude, what! Wait has he actually done that?” 

Tubbo bit his bottom lip, the grin that was trying to grow on his face only solidified Quackity’s suspicions. The bird's eyes grew large, his hands went to his beanie as he tugged down on it, sandwich still in hand. His mouth was hung open in a large smile as he stared at tubbo who at this point was shaking with uncontained laughter. “Tubbo, no! Oh my gosh, dude!” Tubbo cackled, leaning over he gripped the sleeve to Quackity’s coat, laughing into the older teens side. 

Quackity could only hold his sandwich, occupied hand above Tubbo as he let out his own contagious squawks. His wings were completely fluffed out, they spread out behind him slightly in feeble attempts to keep him up right. In an instant the wind was in his hair, his sandwich was in the air and Tubbo happened to be coming along for the ride. He toppled over and landed in the dirt with a grunt, small jolts of pain shooting up his feathered appendages. Tubbo let out a shout, arms flailing out as he fell down off the bricks and landed on some of his wings feathers. 

Quackity groaned, shoving Tubbo off lightly as he sat up. “Sorry about that, Big Q.” He ran a hand through his hair, chuckling lightly. “It’s fine,” he patted his coat before his hand flew up and he pointed at himself, a reassuring smile directed at Tubbo, “I’m way stronger than I look.” 

He stood and stretched out his wings behind him fully, flapping them lightly, the small gusts of wind pushing leaves away from him. “Sweet, nothing’s bent.” Quackity looked down over to Tubbo, the sheep hybrid still sat on the floor, an open mouthed smile was on his face, eyes almost sparkling. Quackity smirked and offered his hand over to Tubbo, the boy happily took it as he was brought to his feet. 

“Pretty neat, huh.” 

Tubbo nodded as Quackity ruffled his feathers, getting the dirt out of them. He turned around in place, eyes roving over the ground to find his beanie. 

“Well, we can have dirt sandwiches now.” Quackity glanced over his shoulder, watching Tubbo toe at the leftover meal on the floor. He maneuvered around the stack of bricks, a slight hunch to his back as he peered around it. There on the floor he spotted his beanie.

He leaned down and picked it up, he shook it, nose scrunching up at the dust. He placed it back on his head, covering his black hair and protecting his ears from the cold. He kind of wished he had wool naturally growing on the sides of his head like Tubbos sheep ears, maybe the cold wouldn’t have bothered him as much. “Alright, back to work.” 

He sighed as he stared at the unfinished house. He pulled out the gloves from his pockets and put them back on. He saw Tubbo from the corner of his eyes pick up the ruined sandwiches and rewrap them in the sheets they came packed in. Tubbo grabbed four bricks and walked over to Quackity, the older of the two having pulled the scope out of the bucket. Tubbo handed a brick over, watching as Quackity lathered the cement onto the back of it and on one side before putting it into place on the ever growing wall that made a side of the house. 

They stood there, repeating the process, methodical and quiet with instances where they’d talk and the sound would fill the air. Every now and again the process was halted to change the shape of the brick, to create a new design in the wall. 

Stopping for the day came in the slowness that made their movements lumber, the ache in their feet and backs for standing as long as they had. They both sat against the wall, sun still in the sky but making its way across the expanse of blue, threading oranges into its seams. Quackity’s wings were wrapped slightly around him, allowing him a more comfortable position where Tubbos knees were pulled up to his chest, chin resting on his knees.

Sitting there as the cold chilled their bodies they looked at the sky. The sound of crunching leaves reached Tubbos ears first. His eyes scanned the trees ahead, ears flicking with the noise, Quackity lollies his head forward, arm pushing behind him against the rock as he stood up. 

A large snap reverberated through the silent clearing, Tubbo scrambled to his feet, hand swinging down to his waist where the materialized handle of his sword sat. Quackity’s own hands gripped the tightly wrapped fabric that made up the handle of his axe. 

The clearing was dead silent, no winds passed and it all seemed still, the sound of Quackity’s breathing being the only noise occupying his mind. 

“I swear to god if this is a fucking skeleton.” The words left him with short quiet hums, one of alarm. Tubbo only stared ahead, ears swiveling at the chirps every instance they bounced out of his friends throat. “If it is?” 

Quackity didn’t speak for a moment, his face still and observant. He knew if it was a skeleton he’d be screwed, he can’t fly in the winter nor is he a fast runner, “Then you make a run for it.” 

The footfalls grew nearer, as they rounded a tree the sight of tall horns curved outwards made both the boys slump back into the ground. “Hey, Quackity.” 

Quackity let the axe fall back into his inventory, leaving his hands with a glow. “For fucks sake, Schlatt, give us a warning why don't you!” His hands moved in front of him, shaking slightly while the bite of anger bit out through his teeth. He swung around to look at Tubbo, resting a hand on his shoulder and letting his wing move behind the boys back in reassurance. 

Schlatt didn’t pay them much mind, a lopsided smile plastered on his face. He leaned against a tree, horns almost getting caught in branches above. “Us?” He lifted his head over, seemingly now seeing the boy at Quackity’s side. “Oh, hey Tubbo. What are ya’- what are you doing here.”

“He’s helping me out.” Quackity furrowed his brows at Schlatt, looking at his form. He was in his suit, tie done neatly but black hair a mess, in his left hand hung a bottle. “Let the boy talk for himself, Quackity, he isn’t a child.” He frowned but kept his mouth shut, Tubbo shifted, kicking at the floor. “It’s as he said, just helping however I can.”

Schlatt nodded, pushing himself forward towards the two, he paused right in front of them. The man lifted the bottle to his lips and took a swig, letting out a content sigh once he finished. Quackity watched him look at the house, a smile painted on the goats face. Schlatt lifted a hand to his face, fingers cupping his chin in thought, “You know, Tubbo. I had some papers left over that I wanted you to look at.” 

Red eyes looked over at Tubbo. “Mind doing that for me, bud?” 

“oh , of course, Schlatt.” Tubbo tipped his head as he slowly made his way to the gate. “Hey, Tubbo.” Quackity called, hand slightly raised to the boy. Tubbo turned around, hair falling into his eyes slightly. “Be safe, i'll be there later.”

Tubbo smiled, giving a small wave. “Alright, see you later! You too, Mr. President.”

Quackity watched him go, weaving behind spruce trees until he was out of sight. He turned to face his friend and boss. The smell wafting off of him in waves, the stench strong and repulsive. “Schlatt, lay off the drinks man. You smell like a skunk sprayed you or something.”

Schlatt stuffed his hand into his pants pocket, leaning more on one side, shoulders more relaxed. “What, i'm just tryin’ to relax. Look here-here.” He offered the bottle to Quackity, the continents within it sloshed against the clear walls of the bottle. “No, I'm good.” Schlatt let his hand fall, lip upturning and eyes narrowing. He turned his face to the side, hand going up to wipe at his nose as he tapped the bottom of the bottle against his thigh. “Alright what’s the deal Q, what's got your panties in a twist?”

“Well for starters you scared the crap outta’ me and Tubbo.” Schlatt giggled, rough, quick, “Think.” he paused and let out another fit of giggles. “Think of it as a surprise visit.”

Quackity stood there, as one does. He was caught in disbelief, nerves getting the better of him as he laughed lightly. “What a great fucking surprise.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as the little bit of steam that fed into his anger dissipated away. Bringing his hand down the bridge of his nose to cover his mouth, he tapped his foot on the ground. “Why are you here anyway, sneaking around and whatever.”

“Just wanted to come and visit.” Schlatt downed the rest of the bottle. He set it down in the grass lightly. “I wanted to see if ya’ made any progress with this place.” The goat stood next to Quackity, throwing an arm around Quackity’s shoulder and tugging him close. “You know, if this doesn’t work out you can always stay at the white house.” 

“I mean, I know that but I just want my own place, somewhere to call home.” Quackity crossed his arms, stiffening slightly as Schlatt grazed his fingers along his wings. “Well i get that but wouldn’t it be easier to live there, with work and all, walking to the White House early in the morning can be dangerous.” His words came out serious, heavier on his tongue and with smoothness to it. They felt more so like a statement of fact, as if his house would never be finished. Quackity brushes aside asinine addled thoughts, feeling the way Schlatt twiddles the ends of his feathers as he spoke. “It’s just something to consider before you get too far ahead of yourself.”

Quackity looked Schlatt in the eye, turning his back away with a small tug, feeling the honey toned fingers leave the inner layers of his wings, the warmth he had felt there gone with the loss of contact. “It should be fine once I place some torches around and make a path.” His feathers ruffled then settled down, his shoulders were a little less tense now that he had some breathing room. Schlatts hand slowly went back to his side, eyes level on the man before him. 

Standing there in silence, he took in the words. Every syllable came out slow and deliberate, carried by purpose. Schlatt, from what Quackity could tell, never wasted his breath on anything that he didn’t believe in. Just as his words held purpose so too did his actions and movements, even in the drunken state the man was now held in an air of poise. Quackity wondered if the man knew he was even doing it. 

“Let’s go home, Quackity.” Schlatts eyes averted, staring down then over to the path leading back to Manberg. “You promised the kid you’d be there soon.” He tucked his hands into his pockets and turned away. 

“Right.” Quackity looked at the ground. There on the yellowing patch of grass sat the empty bottle, discarded. Quackity only hoped that the spring would bring back the lush green. He brushed his nose quickly before making his way up next to Schlatt, meeting him at the gate. Slowly, they headed back to the Manberg, following along the well walked path. 

Not a word between them was exchanged the rest of that night.


	2. Last Nights Moment

It was later that night that Quackity woke with a start. His eyes took in his surroundings in a muddled haze, his body shook in a cold sweat, aching all over. A small needy chirp left his lips as he silently writhed, the world flickering in and out, nothing specific standing out to him, just the unbearable ache in his body, the cold, and softness on his face. His hands found purchase on soft fabric, his face buried into it as he shivered, his chest aching and tears filled glossy eyes. 

He felt what little warmth he had receded. His body went into a full body shake, unable to keep himself from bawling. It didn’t help when he was being pulled up, the world swirling with the momentum. “Stop, stop.” his voice grated against his tongue, it was as if something clawed its way down his throat after being lodged. “ _Please.”_

He clung onto the shirt of the man that carried his weight. He was slouched against them after being forced onto socked feet, soft-higher pitched chirps desperately begging to be put down. He struggled to keep pace with the man, his head trying to move up and catch a glance at his face. He was blinded before he managed to see, the sterile light from the restroom washed over him, the harsh cold piercing through the fabric covering his feet. 

By the time he was set down on the hard floor he was more than ready to heave into the toilet. A rough hand ran up and down his back, the other pulling back his hair. Whatever he had in him that day was now gone. Sitting there for a while, breathing then retching until he couldn’t anymore. 

Hands pulled him back, leaning him against the wall gently as a wet towel was used to wipe at his mouth. His eyes focused, just barely, on what was in front of him. It was Schlatt, his brows were narrowed and his hair was a mess. Out of the corner of his eye he saw two other figures, one taller than the other. He felt the rough texture of the towel swipe at his lips, Schlatt then folded it and wiped Quackity’s brow. 

“Is he going to be okay?” 

“Yeah, just very fucking sick.” Schlatts frown was deep as he stared off and up to the side. He turned to look back at quackity, his hand going to cup the side of his face, his thumb moved up and down his cheek bone in a soothing manner. Quackity only slumped into the touch, tired beyond belief, his chirps losing their edge. 

“He has a nasty fever.” Schlatts voice was loud in the room, voice billowing out in a deep manner, heavy with sleep and accentuated by the quartz walls. “How did he get sick.” it was muttered but above the silent weak chirping it was clear.

There was shuffling at the door,“We slept on the tower the other night.” Tubbos voice trailed off at the end, turning into a mumble. Schlatt’s frown turned sour, lips pursed tightly as he held Quackity steady, ready to lift him back to his bed. 

“What were you doing up there in the first place??” The tone was lilted and firm, higher in pitch but lower than Tubbos, it was Fundys. 

“We were just hanging out, I swear.” there was more shuffling as Quackity’s eyes finally closed, unable to keep them open. A sigh was heard, tired and close by. “Look, both of you make yourselves useful and get some water and rags.” A hand was maneuvered to the small of his back the other moved his arm up and around a pair of shoulders. “I'll get him back in bed, okay.” There were hums and the sound of footsteps leaving, heavy and light, quick and frantic. 

“Alright Q, let's get you back in bed.” He only managed a whimper, being practically dragged back to his bed. Soon enough he was back under the covers, his hair being moved out of his face, beads of sweat making the strands damp. Brown eyes creeped open, staring half-lidded and up at piercing reds. Schlatt’s hand sank into more of his hair, fingers threading through them before his hand slid down to his face. He let it rest on Quackity’s cheek, rubbing away at stray tears at the corner of Quackity’s eye. The rams face leaned down, features layered in softness, his forehead meeting Quackity gently. Quackity weakly turned away, Schlatt looking struck before averting his gaze and sitting up properly. 

It was quiet as they stayed there, Quackity silently crying as Schlatt got up, choosing to stand near the bedroom door. 

Quackity curled in on himself, grasping at the fabric over his chest. He bit his bottom lip, the lump in his throat excruciating, heavy as a bowling ball in his chest. 

It didn't take long before Fundy and Tubbo came back into the room. A bowl of water with a rag, bottled water, and what looked like medicine. The three of them crowded around him the next moment, Schlatt lifting him up into a sitting position, his touch a little less gentle than it had been. Tubbo held the bowl of cold water, his eye filled with concern, eyes glassy with guilt, Fundy moved in front of him with a bottle in hand and a spoon, obscuring Tubbo. 

“Here, Man. I need you to drink this for me, ‘kay?” Quackity looked at the spoon held out for him by grey paws. He swallowed and rubbed away at his face, then looking up at the fox. His ears were pressed back against his head, eyes stern yet patient. Over all, Fundy looked lax from the exhaustion, all Quackity could do is lift up a shaking hand to the handle, shoving the spoon with its contents into his mouth and down his throat. 

He felt it glide down, slow and sticky with a sweetness of honey and underlying bitterness. Fundy nodded, sharp features pleased with his cooperation. He took the spoon from Quackity when he handed it back, the fox walking off and to the side to place the cold medicine on the dresser. Schlatt took it as his cue to uncap the ointment, “I’m going to lift up your shirt and put this on you, it'll be cold as shit but it'll help with the breathing.” 

Quackity only nodded, face turning to face the wall where the only window in his room was. “You two can go, it's just this, the cold rag to lower the fever, and sleep. Should be good as new in the morning.” Fundy hummed at Schlatt, almost a whine but not quite there. “Alright, i’m gonna hit the hay, feel better, Q.” There was the pitter patter of feet, receding until completely gone. “I’ll-uh, stay a little longer.” spoke Tubbo, quiet in his reply. 

Schlatt didn’t say anything, instead lifting up the back of Quackity’s shirt, dipping his fingers in the ointment before moving his hand under and up above his wings, rubbing against the upper part of his back and between his shoulder blades. It was cold, enough to make him tense but not pull away, he felt the ointment heat up, its minty smell reaching his nose and spreading throughout the room. Schlatt worked it into his skin, circular up and down motions with fingertips that pressed in hard against the tan skin. Soon enough he let the fabric fall over his back, it stuck to him uncomfortably. “Now, the front.” 

It didn't last as long as the back, the rams hands never dipping below his collar, most of the ointment being applied on his neck. The smell was much stronger now but with a sigh Schlatt screwed the cap back onto the little container, rubbing the rest of the gel-like substance off on his pants. He turned to Tubbo, reaching for the rag that was tossed over the bend of his arm. “Could I do this part?” Schlatt paused, looking to Quackity then back at Tubbo. He scratched at his face before nodding. 

Tubbo smiled, dipping the rag into the bowl of water as he approached Quackity, “Could you lay down, Big Q.” Tubbos hands wrung excess water out of the rag back into the bowl as Quackity lied down on his side. Schlatt stood behind the boy, looking at Quackity’s face before turning around and leaving quietly, Tubbo only glanced behind him briefly before setting down the damp towel on Quackity’s forehead, more relaxed now with the goat gone. “You’ll feel better in the morning, so chin up, you don’t have to cry anymore.” 

“Okay.” 

Quackity closed his eyes, exhaustion forcing him to a sleep, Tubbo having stayed there till he knew the older wouldn’t wake up. Tubbo took the towel off his head, re-dipped it then set it back onto Quackity before leaving and heading to his own room for the rest of the night. 

* * *

  
  


Waking up felt distinctly hazy that morning. Quackity’s limbs felt heavy with sleep, feathers itching at the base of his back. He was freezing, and although it would never snow in Manberg, the cold still seeped into his dark room. Blinking in the dark from under the covers he debated staying under them for the rest of the day, blowing off work sounded better than braving the cold halls of the White House or even going outside. 

_Fuck this._

He heaved himself up, hair unkempt and stiffly held up and to the side. His face felt oily, throat aching in a distinct burn. Hands found his eyes, swiping at them blearily before going back down to the covers and wrapping them around his bare arms and over his chest. Sighing as he sat there in the dark, the sun's rays only reached his bedside, stark in contrast with the rest of the room, warm when he hovered the tips of his black feathers under them. Jet black sheening blue in the light. He breathed in the air, feeling the way his lungs rattled as he exhaled. 

“That’s no good.” He rubbed at his chest softly, a smile gracing his lips with eyes half closed as he continued staring at meek shimmers of sun that invaded his room. He assumed he sat there for too long when he heard a knock at his door. It was soft, two soft taps that etched into the room followed by a third, much softer wrap used as a precaution. He knew it was Tubbo then, the rhythm all too familiar in the routine they both grew adjusted to. “You can come in!”

He didn’t turn his head to the door as it creaked open, though the shuffling of feet and the smell of coffee let him know the boy was right next to him. “I got you coffee.” He turned over, eyes squinting against the hall lights that assaulted his eyes, it made his head pang. He looked to Tubbo then at the mug, trying to take in what was clearly right in front of him. “Thanks, Toobi.” He took it from Tubbos hands, holding in his blanket covered lap. “I was worried when you didn’t wake up, but Schlatt said to let you sleep in more.” 

He watched as Tubbo fumbled with his hands, brows only slightly angled downwards at his lack of response. “What time is it?” His throat felt like sandpaper as he spoke, unbelievably dry. “It’s noon, Big Q.” Eyes widened at that, he was sure that the sun had just gone up. He stared over where the sun had been and found no light at his bedside. “I just woke up and it's noon, what the hell.” Tubbo giggled as he sorted through his muddled thoughts, usually he’d be able to form some ideas but it's as if a bubble had been popped and now he’s left with empty space. He groaned pathetically into his mug, taking a large sip as he gurgled it down with his whines. 

Tubbo watched him put on a display, sinking down into the mattress next to him. It was gross but he could care less as he felt himself warm up a little. “Tubbs, I might be sick.” The boy only laughs softly, small huffs, Quackity can’t help but giggle with him in the dark. “I don’t think you are,” Tubbo goes to reach for the mug, pulling it out of Quackity’s hands and in turn placing a glass of water in its place. “You may just have allergies, I reckon.” He says it with a grin on his face, turning over and placing the mug onto the nightstand. Quackity is left questioning where the hell the water came from. 

“Aw, man. I’m going to have so much work tomorrow, the papers are going to eat me alive.” Tubbo only quirked a brow at the comment, standing up and off from the bed. “You don’t have to worry, Q. Fundy and I handled it and Schlatt didn’t really mind, really.” 

“Nah, dude. You guys didn't have to do that.” The boy only placed his hands on Quackity’s shoulders, gently reassuring him that it was really okay and that he'd be right back with a warm bowl of soup and more water. Quackity took the small departure as his queue to get up and at least shower and brush his teeth. He scratched at his head, shaking out his wings as he tossed his legs over the end of the mattress. He felt a few spots itch on the wings and his back, most likely due to rolling over onto his back and bending some of the feathers. 

He couldn’t really be bothered to straighten them out, instead opting to stand and dig through his dresser, ignoring how fatigued he felt and just sifting through his clothes. He definitely didn't stay squatted on the floor for half a minute catching his breath. 

Once he reached his bathroom, luckily attached to his room, he turned on the shower and let it run until it warmed. He brushed his teeth and splashed water on his face. He starred in the mirror briefly, looking at the bruising under his eyes that sat contrasting heavily on his pale tan skin, his hair looked like shit, was another thought he had. 

Sliding his shirt over his head, across the feathers of his wings, he tossed the shirt on the floor, stepping onto it and letting his toes knead into them. He turned back to the mirror, turning in place, stretching his arms out in front of him and to the side. He sighed as he let his arms drop, ghosting fingers up his arms and down his sides. He lifted the black and yellow wings, raising them up slightly before letting them drop while he rubbed at his chin. 

Taking off his briefs, he steps into the shower, the water cascades down his head and back. The water rolls down his wings, leaving them sleek. It’s cold at first before his body grows used to it, water droplets padding against his skin in a relaxing rhythm. 

His wings fluffed out on their own, shaking the water off them before retracting and repeating the process. The shower was too small to let them spread a little beyond his shoulders but ultimately he was content with what little space he was given. The shower was alleviating, washing away the feeling of dirt off his skin, as well as the stress and weight he didn’t know he carried. The heaviness of his limbs was still profound, his eyes drooped as the seconds ticked by, he wanted to sit on the floor and stay there for a while longer. 

Hearing the click of a door outside the bathroom had him finishing up instead. 

After needlessly running his fingers through damp hair and shaking the remaining water off the feathers on his back, he stepped out and dried himself off. He was more than a little thankful for the natural oils that made his wings practically waterproof. 

Putting on clothes and stepping back into his room, the heat from the warm shower was whisked away instantly leaving his skin raised and wings flapping up and around him instantly. Tubbo was sitting on the bed again, legs cross crossed with a blanket in his arms that completely dwarfed his body. “I brought you mushroom stew! Oh and some hot cocoa.”

His smile was soft, closed lipped as he stared at the boy. 

He scampered on over, a little too excited to be back in bed. Practically melting into the mattress, closest to the little dresser by his bed, he grabbed the bowl of soup. The polished wood of the bowl was warm to the touch. Broth equally as warm and comforting. “Thank you so much, Tubbo. I really needed this.” 

He sunk into Tubbos' side, the boy tossing the blanket over them both, though giving most of it to Quackity. “Thanks, Tubbo.” Tubbo only nodded, playing with smaller feathers that peeked out from behind Quackity, twiddling the ends. Quackity only ate his soup in silence, getting drowsy from the warmth and attention. 

Soon he finished, placing the bowl back on the dresser. Pulling his hands back, he tentatively rested his head on Tubbos shoulder, feeling the younger boy lean into him too, his arms rising to wrap around Quackitys’ stomach. 

“How is it that, I’m freezing and you're not?” Tubbo maneuvered them onto the bed, Quackity yawned as he settled into the sheets, laying on his side as Tubbo pulled the blanket further up their shoulders. “Well, I am a sheep hybrid.” He spoke softly, getting comfortable as he hugged Quackity closely. “I've got wool growing on my back and arms, so it's not so cold.” Quackity moved his wing, enclosing Tubbo with it, acting as a second layer under the blanket as the other feathered appendage was tucked tightly on his back. 

“Wait.” Quackity paused, staring down at Tubbos fluffy ears, at the horns protruding from his hair. “You’re a sheep? I thought you were a goat like Schlatt.” Tubbos lips turned downwards in the barest of frowns, his chocolate-colored eyes stared at the small creases of Quackity’s shirt. “Well, i'm not.” 

Quackity’s arms wrapped around Tubbo, the boy relaxing in his hold as he rubbed circles into his back. “What type of bird are you? Are you a duck?” 

Tubbos voice was muffled into the bird's shirt, his hands grasping the fabric tightly. “I don’t think so?” Tubbo giggled, his body shaking with the small chortles that left his throat. “How do you not know?” Quackity huffed, the air blowing into Tubbos hair, “Well, it's not like anyone ever told me. You know what, what type of sheep are you?”

“A brown sheep!” Quackity could practically hear the grin on the boy's face, he couldn’t help it when his own grew on his face. He squeezed Tubbo in his arms as he buried his face into the boy's hair, chuckling lightly with the trill bubbling in his chest. Tubbo only reciprocated the hug, listening to the quiet hum coming from the teen. Quackity grew quiet after a while, the hum in his chest ever consistent as they both layed there. Tubbo stayed in Quackity’s arms, breathing softly, the smell of vanilla shampoo invading his nose. 

His eyes fluttered closed and slowly opened. His attempts at trying to stay awake failed when his eyes didn’t open for a fifth time. His breathing evened out, a content sigh left him finally as he fell asleep. 

The sound of a door clicking closed never registered into the sheep's ears. 

* * *

  
  


A rough shove is what woke him up the second time around. He groaned into the blanket that was tossed over him, the movement on his upper arm less rough. “Come on, Q.” There was a pause and a yawn, followed by the slight grinding of teeth, it made Quackity shiver. “Lets go get dinner.”

“You're so annoying,” With a huff he lifted himself up, elbows propping his head up as he lay on his stomach, “alright, lets go get food then.” Tubbo bounced on the bed before jumping off it, it wasn’t necessary but with the way he shuffled off one foot to another the boy was probably starving. “How are you feeling?”

Quackity sat up onto his knees, sliding his feet onto the floor before even turning around to face Tubbo. “Like my arms are going to fall off,” he stretched his arms in front of him and then side to side, one over the other for support. His wings stretched up and outward, curling in ever so slightly at the ends as to not hit the ceiling. “But better. I'm still real’ tired and food doesn't sound nice at all.”

Tubbo hummed, watching Quackity relax, drooping in all his entirety. He looked like he was going to fold over onto the floor. “You’ll feel way better when you eat!” the boy had already bound over to the door, swinging it open and waiting for Quackity. “Well, maybe that is not entirely true, but the medicine surely will.” Quackity crossed the room and into the hall, wings dragging on the stone floor. “The medicine tastes like shit.” 

They didn't say much on their way to the mess hall, silence soaked into the hall, filling the space around them in a relaxing manner. Quackity let his eyes glide over the quartz that pillered up the wall, contrasting against the spruce wood and stone that gave shape to the hall. 

It was rough, nothing like the large monuments that littered Manberg beyond its walls, bright quartz buildings, obsidian structures that reach into the sky, wooden homes scattered across and into the sides of mountains. Manberg was large in its beliefs, its size on the other hand was nothing more than a dot against the ever expanding lines of the lands Dream owned. 

The stone was carved and handled with more care than he’d expect anyone to have for the material. Spruce that made up the inner roof was sanded down, kept from splintering and polished. Overall, like most builds around these lands, all were man made. A roughness to them varying depending on who made them, the same could be said about the dining room tables and chairs within the dining room he sat in. He didn't say much, too tired to be in the mood for conversation, only piping in when both Fundy and Tubbo asked him a question. 

Merely picking at his food, he moved it around on the plate, seemingly creating a jigsaw puzzle out of the air as the fork moved the bits of tasteless scraps around. He only hummed, something small and sweet as his head rested on the propped arm on the oak table, eyes looking off to the side, up the ceiling, and beyond Fundy’s shoulder. 

Eventually he spotted someone that stood out against the dark and white polished tones of the room, leaning against a white quartz pillar was Schlatt, horns tall and spiraling, hair far more tame than he’d seen in days, eyes cast-over to their table in half lidded composure. His hand cupped his face, a cigar pressed between his index and ring finger. 

Schlatt pulled his hand down after locking eyes with Quackity, letting out the smoke through his nose like a bull. 

Quackity decided to look away.

The night ended quickly, Quackity taking more cough medicine before departing with the rest of the boys. Schlatt had long since disappeared earlier that evening when Quackity gazed back up from his plate on the table. 

The following days spurred on an even harsher cold, making the winged man far more fatigued.

The times he did see Fundy were almost always accompanied by Schlatt. The fox appeasing and humming at everything the man said, scampering off to do, who knows what. Quackity could only assume it to be some project or errand Schlatt sent him off to do. Quackity only kept to himself those first brief weeks, still settling into the new environment, into the new responsibilities he imposed on himself without really thinking it through. 

Ultimately it meant little. The paperwork was decent, not too much yet never too little, plenty to keep his head tucked downwards and his mouth shut for hours at a time before he finished and left to work on his house out in the woods. Tubbos form scattered itself throughout the hours of sunlight in the sky, even when it dipped beyond the horizon he was a constant, inconsistency. He belted words with vigor, sometimes innocently mean or questioning, talk of plans and projects that would eat at his day faster than the tasks already handed to him and yet the boy found time for Quackity. 

Tubbo warmed him in a way he couldn't quite describe. His overly optimistic attitude that even made the bluntest of remarks seem upbeat never ceased to make him smile. Tubbo slotted himself easily into his life as if he was always there and although what got him to that point was the absence of his best friend, Quackity, soaked up all the attention like a cat bathing in the sun. He did so by listening to him speak, letting him wave his hands in the air in detail of all his never-ending spouts of nonsense. 

He was the only person he’d spend the quiet and tired moments of his time with, to bask in the silent company that they both shared or in small songs the boy asked him to sing. 

In the times he wasn’t able to catch Tubbo, Schlatt would fill that space. A silent and imposing figure that contrasted heavily with the contained ball of energy that was Tubbo. He didn't mind Schlatt, but the man's eyes were always calculating, his hand moved in touching manners and gestures unlike Tubbos. More stark and sharp, obsessive in practiced nature that didn’t seem unconscious. 

He found himself under Schlatt’s eyes in the late night of the day, or the low ends of the afternoon, even within the void-less mornings that went by too quickly to keep track of. His hands would graze his fingers, touch his shoulders and dip between his two wings, the touches too quick to comment on, never harsh and feather light. They were there though, when Quackity wasn’t particularly up for a debate or to ask for the man to stop, it was too purposeful to be accidental, yet the times they occurred, Quackity was stowed away with the currents of time to even ask Schlatt to stop. 

Schlatts hands never went beyond that. Soon they became so frequent and mundane that Quackity stopped even noticing them. 

He stopped taking notice of a lot of things in the end. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping i'm doin' okay at this whole writing thing, regardless i also hope you enjoy.

**Author's Note:**

> Tags will be updated as the story moves along
> 
> I hope you enjoy, as this is my first time writing something longer than 1K words.
> 
> updates may also be slow since school and all but ill do my best.  
> :)


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